


The Acorn

by starlight_way



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Mention of abuse, feudal society, nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 14:16:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9903410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_way/pseuds/starlight_way
Summary: "A world built by Barons, for Barons."Leandra's family is one of the unpriviledged, which means that when a girl/boy reaches the 13th birthday, he graduates from school, and is forced to work on the fields, the pay being a half-empty plate of food, enough to keep them going for the next day. She doesn't want this future, but what can a little girl do to change it?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please, leave a review. I want to become a better writer, but I can't do this without you guys. Whoever you may be, whatever you want to say, feel free.

Childhood

ACT I

_“I see the once lush fields burn, I want to scream. I try to, but the heavy smoke that surrounds me is choking me. My eyes fill with unbidden tears. So this is how I die. I fall to my knees, sobbing against the palms of my hands, wishing for this torture to end. For somebody to end it…”_

_“Leandra!” Somebody is calling to me. I look up, but all I see is smoke. All I see is death, a cold grave, unmarked, unnoticed. A maggot writhing in the filth…”_

“Wake up, lazybones!” My sister shoves me so hard that I almost fall out of my chair – almost, because my fast reflexes allowed me to grab the sides of the heavy wooden table in front of me. For a moment, I expect to see the house on fire; it is not. _A bad dream,_ I console myself. Nothing is burning, asides from my sister’s eyes, the familiar angry expression directed at me.

“You should be studying, not sleeping,” She says, towering above me. Avie is two years older than me, only four-and-ten, but the last year slaving away on the fields had made her look a lot older. And she is stronger than I am.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, annoyed by her proximity. I do not mean the words – what’s the point of attending school when a lifetime sentence of working for scraps awaited you either way? Avie doesn't share my views on that matter, so I pretend playing along with her, hoping against all odds that she would leave me in peace.

She is not satisfied by my half-hearted apology and it plainly shows on her face; her eyes, brown like the mud, same as my own, are glaring daggers at me. I gulp, fearing that she will strike me as she so often does when our parents aren’t looking, but I refuse to drop my gaze. If she can be headstrong, then I can be worse.

“Study your lessons, Lea. Now.” _Or else._ She doesn’t utter it, she doesn’t have to. I know how every sentence coming out of her mouth ends like. I know how every threat of hers play out. I have numerous bruises hidden all over my body, a courtesy of her sisterly love.  
The little girl in me is afraid of her. The woman I aspire to be wants to stand her ground. The former wins.

I open the book that’s laid for hours on the table. Sensing my defeat, Avie backs away, to the room we share. She shuts her door behind her.

I don’t mean to cry, but I do so anyway.

I cannot focus on the words – they seem to be jumping around the page, confusing me, making my head ache. Instead, I look at an illustration; it depicts workers cheering for a man who wears fine clothes.

 _“The duty of every man, woman and child is to love and protect their Baron, as he loves and protects them.”_ The caption reads.  
This is my future.

I still have one year of school, a year of relative freedom, but as soon as I graduate, I’ll be forced to work on the fields as my sister, my parents and their parents before them did.

It is the fate of us, the poor and the weak, to work for another man’s gain. We reap and harvest all year long, but we barely get a full plate of food to fill our bellies, while another, the so called Baron, claims everything that we work for. I saw him once, when I was little, when he toured our villages to inspect his fields – the fields we give our life’s blood on. He was a thin man, but not the kind of thin that a starving man is. His skin looked healthier than any I have ever seen, and pale, a stark contrast to the sunburned limbs of everybody I have ever known.

One day, when the Baron will come touring again, I’ll be amongst the sunburned, too hungry to care, too tired to fight. Just the thought is enough to make my eyes water. I’m just a girl, I’m thinking, how is it that my life is already over?

A world built by Barons, for Barons. There is no escaping this cage.

But I can escape this house; the air is getting stale. It’ll be a full hour before father and mother return; this is more than enough. I just hope that Avie won’t notice me leaving.

Outside, I feel the autumn breeze rustle my hair. Long and brown, just like father’s, mother’s, Avie’s.

The sun is westernwards; nightfall is not long now. So I ran, taking the main road that leads to the northern border, passing by the elaborate monument to Baron Haldar, the father of our current overlord. The northern road leads to Molehills, I know. It is a town much larger than our village, which was built upon and between four hills. Four towers are overlooking the inside and the outside of the city, each tower standing on a hill. When the skies are clear, I can see the walls and the southern tower from the outskirts of our village.

Halfway through the village, a familiar voice calls to me.

“Leandra!’ It’s Rick, my best friend. We play together every day after school and he is the only one who knows the secret of my destination.

“Hey,” I greet him, waiting for him to catch up with me.

“Where are you going?” He asks as if he doesn’t already know the answer. He runs a hand through his blonde hair as he does. Blonde hair is not common in a southern village like Aldarock. My father told me that Rick’s parents hail from a village in the north.

“To sit by the Oak.” I tell him, truthfully. I want to gaze the horizon, see how big the world really is. I want to escape the cage. This particular Oak is ancient, its kind has died years ago – or so my mother says. This is the last Golden Oak standing. And its acorns are said to be valuable, but it rarely yields one. This oak hasn’t produced a single one in five years; I know this for a fact.

“Let’s go,” He says eagerly. “Both our parents will be home in less than an hour.”

“Let’s run,” Without waiting for a nod, I sprint. Rick is forced to match my speed. I’m quicker than him and I don’t stumble like he does. He has a knack for stumbling, always twisting his ankles.

In a few minutes we are there, ragged breaths, flushed cheeks, hair in disarray.

It doesn’t matter. Beneath the shade of the Golden Oak, we are the kings of the world.

“Do you think we will ever see the sea?” Ricks asks me, his blue eyes staring at the west, where the closest shore is. It’s not visible from here. Too far away. I don’t have a good answer to give him. We might be twelve-year-olds, but we have grown far beyond our years.

“I hope so. I’d like to step my toes in it, feel the water.” I tell him.

He smiles then, a sad smile. “You hope, but you don’t think we ever will.”

I nod in confirmation – Rick knows me and he knows our future. “It’s good to hope. Maybe the world will change one day and we can travel. Maybe visit Weirwood Grove.”

I rack my brains to remember. Weirwood Grove is the name of the northern village his parents were born in. What's odd is that the Barons rarely let their subjects travel to another’s Baron territory, something to do with the able working hands. We don’t know what convinced him to grant Rick’s parents safe passage through the country. We probably never will, because we are not allowed to ask such questions. Unless we want to rush ourselves into slavery.

Contemplating such things makes the time go by faster. Rick is giving me a gentle nudge in the ribs. We have to go. It’s almost sundown. I spare one last look at the ancient tree and curse its inability to produce acorns. I desperately need one right now.

I turn to Rick, who is quiet, waiting. “I’ll race you,” I tell him and we start running back home. We are still kids, after all. We have to enjoy it while it lasts.


End file.
